The Power He Knows Not
by Goddess of the Black Rose
Summary: HermioneCharlie. AUpostOotP. Follow Hermione through the Second War as she lives, loves, and learns. How is she connected to the power needed to defeat the Dark Lord?
1. The Quidditch World Cup

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Quite frankly, if I did, I wouldn't be bothering with fanfiction. That would just be silly.

Chapter 1 – Quidditch World Cup

_August 1998_

It was late – very late. Throughout the campgrounds fires had died away as even the hardiest partiers finally admitted defeat and crawled into bed. Though unusually crowded, the army of tents seemed normal enough until one noticed the purples embers of one fire and the dark outlines of shamrocks draped over 2 dozen tents in one area.

The reason for these peculiarities was quite simple: every camper in a 40 mile radius was a witch or wizard. Their world was a hidden one, which explained the remoteness of the location and the extremely dazed muggles (non-magical people) in the area. As a rule, the magical community didn't congregate en-masse like they currently were, but this was a special occasion – the Quidditch World Cup. It was only held every 10 years and for fans the year following up to the actual match was almost more exciting than the actual game. Not quite, however. After all, a game could go on for months before it ended and everyone had expected it to, given the calibre of the teams.

Intead, the game had lasted barely 3 hours. Despite this, the rest of the night had been spent disecting every play and strategy of the Irish and Bulgarian National Quidditch teams and excitedly reliving various moments.

But now, in the hours between midnight and morning, only one person was awake. 14 year-old Hermione Granger sat in front of her tent, writing furiously in a large, leather-bound book. Her single candle highlighted her chestnut brown hair straining from its braid and the flashes of white, overly-large front teeth as she mouthed the sentances she was writing. Her muggle ball-point pen flew across the parchment as she recorded the day's events. However, her mind wasn't on quaffles or snitches as most of her peers' would be, but on the stuff many of them took for granted. She wrote of their portkey to the campground early that morning, and the magical tents that contained whole house but were normal-sized. Her mind was full of spells to make fires and binoculars that recorded what you saw. Interspersed throughout the text were pictures and documents such as her ticket and program.

Though she book was only the size of a large notebook, it held three years of such entries. It had been an early gift from her parents for 11th birthday and Hermione had filled it with her thoughts, the spells she'd learned (which were numerous) and retellings of her adventures. It also contained all of the things that she could never dicuss with her male best friends, like the unfortunate crush she's had on her 2nd year Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher and complaints about the two boys themselves.

She'd kept quiet about its existance and had had the most complex locking charms available put on it, because she knew that the information inside could be dangerous to some people. That is _some_ of it could be dangerous (she doubted anyone cared about the pages on how cute Prof. Lockheart had been.).

You see, Hermione was no ordinary witch.

For starters, her was muggleborn – meaning her family was non-maigcal. This fact caused some purblooded wizards (whose entire family had been magical for generations) to look down on her. But that's not what made her special – there were many muggleborns at her school. No, what made her stand out was her friends and reputation. Hermione Granger was the best friend of none other than Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. For three years she had stood by him with their friend Ron Weasley and faced things most adults would have been terrified of – Death Eaters and the Dark Lord Voldemort at the forefront. The whole story of each of their 'adventures' had never been told, but there were rumours wild enough to make the three of them known by adults and not just their school-mates. In addition, Hermione was hailed as a prodigy, as "the smartest witch of her generation". It was a title that she'd earned, given her nearly obsessive studiing.

Even now, in the early hours, her mind was still rapidly processing the day's events. She was soon interupted by a low, quiet voice.

"Who's there? Hermione?" Charlie Weasley, Ron's second eldest brother, stepped into the dim light. Like his brothers, his hair was a natural, vibrant almost-orange red. He was tall, over 6 feet, with shoulders whose width nearly equaled the length of Hermione's arm, but there was a quiet grace to his movements as he sat next to her. Even seated, her head barely came up to his shoulder, and Hermione found herself nervously closing her journal and shifting.

What are you doing? I'd have thought all of that quidditch talk would have put you to sleep." His grin flashed. "Ron said you hated the sport."

She had to move back slightly to look at his face. "I don't hate it – I just don't really get his obession." Hermione admitted. "I couldn't sleep, though. I'm still too wired…er …excited."

"From what?"

Hermione stared at him, incredulous. "From all of the stuff that's happened, of course! The portkey, the tents –." She broke off, seeing that she wasn't getting through, and sighed. "You don't get it, do you? Ron's the same way. You just don't appreciate the things around you."

As soon as she said it, she wondered what was wrong with her. She barely knew this man, for all that the Weasley's were family, and here she was calling him ignorant! Harry and Ron were really having a bad effect on her…

"You're right."

"What?" **He isn't mad?**

He glanced down at her thoughtfully. "You're right." He repeated. "We do take things for granted. I'll have to remember that." Before she could formulate a response to that, he added. "But that doesn't explain what you were doing. Is that a diary?"

"Um." She glanced down, her fingers moving over the book nervously. No one, not even Ron and Harry knew of it – she'd been very careful. Could she trust him?

"It's all right." Charlie smiled reassuringly as the bushy head popped up. "You don't have to tell me. No one make you do what you don't want to – well they can." He corrected himself and added quickly, "If your will is strong, no one can make you do anything."

There was silence for a while as both stared into the embers of the fire. Charlie was about to back inside when Hermione spoke.

"It's a journal."

"Really?" He smiled at the emphasis she put on the word 'journal'. **She must think that 'diary' is too girly – that would be Ron and Harry's fault, I'm sure.**

"Yes." She bit her lip and glanced at him. "No one knows about it."

That surprised him. "That's weir – unusual. I won't tell. I promise." His smile grew wider at her obvious insecurity. "What do you write about?"

"Oh, everything! Like –." She quickly traced a shape on the cover to unlock it and opened to her 1st year. "Norbert."

And there was Norbert on the page. Next to him was a long list of facts about caring for dragons.

"Wow. It really looks like him." He moved slightly to get a better look. He snickered slightly. "You should have seen my friends' faces when they found out that you had a Norwegian Ridgeback at Hogwarts." He paused. "Ron was really lucky you know. He could have lost his whole hand. Most dragon bites –."

"Need to be treated immediately or the bacteria in them causes a major infection. I know. I tried to get Ron to go to the Nurse sooner, but he was afraid of getting caught." She realized that he was staring at her. "What?"

"How'd you know about bites? Most of our new trainees have no clue what to do with an injury." His stare was starting to make her uncomfortable.

"Well." She squirmed under his gaze. "It's right here." She pointed to the list in front of them. "When we found out about Norbert – Merlin, what a name! – I looked up everything I could." She smiled suddenly, showing two large front teeth. "As a matter of fact, you might recognize this." She pointed to a quote at the bottom of the page.

"What -." He leaned forward again to read and started laughing. "my book – you quoted my book." He made a noise of disbelief. "I can barely get our apprentices to read it. Oh well, it's nice to know that someone appreciated it."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, taken aback. He sounded so dishaerted and looked almost as defeated.

It looked like he was about to answer when a loud BANG! errupted in the distance.

"What the Hell!" Charlie and Hermione stood up. Charlie stepped slightly in front of Hermione, who was hugging her diary to her. All around them, people began to pop their heads out of their tents to find the source of the continuing noise. Mr. Weasley stepped out, wand clutched tightly.

"What's going on?" They could see fires springing up, but the darkness made it difficult to see how far away they were.

That's when the screaming began.

AN: OK, it's time to review! All comments are appreciated, but flamers will be yelled back at. I have a rough outline for this story, but all suggestions will be taken into account. Also, I don't have my copies of the books (we moved about a year ago and STILL haven't finished unpacking) so any mistakes should be pointed out and may be corrected – some of them are on purpose.


	2. The Next Day

AN: Yay! Another chapter! Disclaimer applies.

Chapter 2 – The Next Day

It was bright and sunny when Hermione walked out of the Burrow's back door the next day. The shock caused by the events of the early morning was starting to fade and the warmth on her face made Hermione feel even better.

The house and yard were quiet. Everyone but Mrs. Weasley was curled up in their beds, sleeping off the excitement and horror they had experienced. Hermione had tried to sleep, but everytime she closed her eyes, she saw a skull floating in the sky and heard Draco Malfoy's sneer of, "Mudblood".

Mudblood. Hermione sighed as she sat on an old wooden swing and stared up the the branch it hung from. It was only a word, and Hermione knew that, but it had the desired effect. She'd never let it show, but the epithet had always disturbed her. It wasn't what it meant – the idea of 'dirty blood' was ridiculous – but the hatred, the contempt, and the unshaking belief that she was inferior that lay behind the word as it was spat at her that made her shiver from just thinking about it.

When Malfoy had first called her it, she'd only been at Hogwarts a week. She'd been lonely and hiding in the library – again – when she'd spotted the Slytherin reading at a table. When she'd approached, hoping that she had found someone to talk to, she'd been shocked. He had been rude and cruel, taunting her lack of friends, her inferiority. Why would he be friends with a _mudblood_? She was lucky that he was even talking to her.

It had taken her months to find out what the word meant. By that time she'd become friends with Ron and Harry and was busy trying to find out who Nicholas Flamel was. She'd put the entire thing out of her mind until he'd called her it again the next year. It had been diffent then, though – she'd had people stand up for her. She smiled slightly at the memory of Ron belching up slugs. Though it would have been funnier if it had been Malfoy…

_**CHCHCHCHCHCHCH**_

The first thing Charlie did when he woke up was look out his window. He did this every morning that he stayed at the Burrow. In the nine years since he had graduated, he'd come to appreciate his home in ways that he hadn't even thought of as a teen. He missed the activity and atmosphere of a house full of children. The house he shared near the dragon reserve was usually mellow, a place to chill out, not loud and fun like here.

As he strared out at the grove where he'd taught his siblings to fly, a movement caught his eye. On the rickety wooden swing that had been there as long as he remembered was a figure with brown hair. He stood for a moment, thinking.

Hermione Granger interested him. In some ways, he felt like he knew her as well as his siblings. His mother's letters contained large sections of nothing but her other children and his youngest brother and his friends featured in many of her rants (although Fred and George took up a majority of the space). He'd first heard of Hermione from the terrible two who found it hilarious that Ron ws already experiencing his first crush. The fact that it was on a girl who seemed destined to be another Percy made the situation even funnier. The story of how they'd become friends had shocked him, though – taking out a mountain troll at eleven! The next thwo years had yeilded even more adventures that had given his mother fits. And he doubted that any of them had heard the entire story.

Still, they'd been bad enough. The Weasley matriarch had sounded ready to have an anurism when she'd written to say that Hermione had been attacked and that the school might have to close. Then Ginny had been taken. He'd been ready to head to Hogwarts when he'd been told of her rescue and the recovery of the petrified students. Then this year … well, he hadn't really been given a story, but there'd been mentions of Sirius Black that had had Ron going very quiet.

Of course, last night had proven that he didn't actually know Hermione Granger. Instead of being prickyly and Percy-like, she'd been shy and friendly. That's not to say that she wasn't very smart – he had recognised the locking charm on her journal to be _very_ advanced. She just hadn't seemed like she was ready to lecture him when he hadn't understood her enthusiasm. It shoudn't have been a surprise, really. She, Harry and Ron had broken more rules than Fred and George in far more interesting ways. As the obvious brains of the operation, she must be even more relaxed than she appeared. What he'd give to read that journal of hers…

Abrubtly he turned from the window to dress. He knew better. If a person didn't want to share something, they shouldn't be forced to. How many times had he worried about his dorm mates or brothers finding some of his work? He still couldn't share it with anyone.

He winced as he lifted a shirt over his head. He was more out of shape than he liked to admit – and his muscles were screaming at him for it. He'd spent last night's chaos trying to help people flee and fighting looters. At least he hadn't met any Death Eaters. In the shape he was in, he'd hae been beaten easily.

His mother came bustling over as over as soon as he entered the kitchen.

"Come and sit down, dear. You must be starving."

Kowing not to argue, he sat and fondly watched his mother hurry around the kitchen. He'd missed this fussing more and more over the years and welcomed it – in small dises.

"Are any of the others up yet?"

"Besides Hermione out on the swing? No."

Mrs. Weasley whirled around from the stove. "Hermione's outside? I didn't realize. I had hoped to catch her this morning. Poor dear must have been terrified."

"It was pretty scary last night, mum." He pointed out.

"Yes, but more so for Muggleborns. Authur said that Ron mentioned that young Malfoy boy talking about Muggleborns being targets last night. Between that and that horrible mark -." She clucked sympathetically.

Charlie, however, wasn't paying attention to his mother anymore. He was thinking of the brunette he'd seen from his window. Their conversation the night before rang in his head. She'd been so … enthralled by all of the new experiences last night. Then she got a look at the darker side of the Wizarding world. No matter what she'd seen and done on her adventures, he was willing to bet that this was a new experience she hadn't wanted.

"Tell you what, mum." He said suddenly interupting her worrying. "I'll go get her. Make breakfast for her, too."

"That's sweet, dear. Hurry back, though – it sounds like your brothers are awake."

**_CHCHCHCHCHCHCH_**

He found her in the same spot he'd seen her in earlier. He stood quietly watching her. She was deep in thought, as she usually was, swinging slightly as she stared up into the trees. Her long hair nearly touched the ground and Charlie was struck by the picture she made. If you acutually looked, she was quite a pretty little thing. He shifted slightly and stepped on a twig. The sound had her jumping up and whirling around, her wand in hand.

"Impressive." He studied her stance. "You might want to crouch more, though. Not that you're much of a target to begin with."

"Charlie." Relief and annoyance overwhelmed her embarassment about jumping. "What are you doing out here?" She sat back on the swing.

"Looking for you, actually." He stepped behind her and began to puch the swing the way he use to for Ginny. "Mum was worried about you."

"Really? Why? I wasn't fighting and it was Harry's wasn thea was stolen."

"Yes, but Harry and Ron haven't quite grasped the magnitude of what happened – they're still asleep. And," He added softly as he stopped the swing and knelt in fron of her. "They'er not muggleborn."

She glanced away and was shocked when he gently turned her ehad back to face him.

"Look, I understand if you don't want to talk about it. But I think you need to ehar that they're wrong. It doesn't matter that your parents aren't wizards – I've heard enough to know that when you're called the 'smartest witch of your generation', the professors mean it." He smiled slightly at her surprise.

"You're pretty, you're intelligent, and you scare all the pureblooded snobs becsue you're proving them wrong."

"You – you think that I'm pretty?" Hermione wispered.

"Uh, yeah." Charlie was a bit surprised that _that _was the part of his speech that she mentioned first. "Of course you are. Hasn't anyone told you that before?"

She blushed and glanced away. "No. Ron and Harry don't even seem to realize I'm a girl – none of the boys do. I'm 'one of the guys'. They don't even mind me hanging out in their dorm anymore."

"They were silent for a moment as Charlie tried to process that and come up with a response. Then Hermione spoke again.

"Thank-you, though, for the compliment." She blushed again. "And the other things you said. You're right. I did need to hear it." She sighed. "Do you know why I study so much?" he shook his head. "I started because it didn't seem like studying. I was 'obsessed' with grades before Hogwarts, of course." **Why am I telling him this?** "But it was like reading fiction. I ust to love fantasy books. When I got ahold of 'Hogwarts: A History', it was like stpping inpt a a dream world – all of it seemed like one of my books, but it was part of my new world." She made a face and laughed slightly.

"Of course, now when I try to read fantasy, I find it unrealistic and hard to get into. And most wizard fiction is silly…" She trailed off as she noticed the odd look on her companion's face.

"Charlie?"

"What? Oh, sorry, Hermione, you just said something – nevermind." He smiled and stood.

"Ready to face everyone?" When she hesitated, he held his hand out. "Come on, the others will be awake and distracting Mum."

Their height difference made it uncomfortable to hold hands, but the silence between the two as they walked back was reasuringly friendly.

**_CHCHCHCHCHCHCH_**

Later that day, Charlie went back up to his room and pulled out a large, bound stack of parchment. He sat there for a while, staring at what he considered the biggest secret he ehad. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind and pulled out his wand.

It was not untill September 1st that Hermione received the package Charlie had been preparing that night. The rest of the summer had gone by quickly with most of her time spent reading the next year's books. She and Charlie had had several more discussions, mainly about his book, which none of his family had read.

The package itself was small and wrapped in red fabric. Hermione found it waiting on her bed when she entered her dorm with her excited, chattering room mates. On her headboard was a snooty, grey owl.

The letter he had attatched was short.

_Hermione, __That day in the yard you said that you wished there was wizarding fantasy. Funnily enough, I wrote something a few years ago that might be what you were looking for. __I hope you enjoy this, __C._

AN:

I got called a review whore. I'm still trying to figure out if this is a good thing. I still want all help that you're willing to give. And I meant it when I said that I'd yell back – you have been warned!

To everyone who reviewed, thank-you. I haven't had time to write back to any of you, and I probably won't get to it. But I do appreciate your support and critism – actually, there was no critism (You like me! You really like me!).

Oh, and this will be cannon until OoTP – HBP sucked.


	3. Charlie's Book

Chapter 3 - Charlie's Book

It took Hermione nearly a week to finish the story, sneaking in bouts of reading between classes and homework. Incredibly, she found herself sneaking off to read it instead of putting the time into doing extra on her homework - after the 1st chapter, she was hooked.

The book was colorful and descriptive, the characters real and fantastical all at once, and (most importantly) it was based on fact. Though set in the imaginary land of Deraine, Hermione recognized the historical dragon riders as the heroes.

**Why hasn't this been published?** Hermione was going back through the story the Sunday after school had started.

It took several days, but the answer finally came to her during lunch later that week. Watching Fred and George tease Ron, she realized they were the reason. Charlie was afraid of what his brothers, and his parents, would say. Their opinions obviously mattered √ Hermione could remember his surprise that she'd read his dragon manual, and his distress that none of his family had.

**Well**, she thought fiercely, **we'll see about that**!

_**CHCHCHCHCHCHCH**_

The letter Charlie received a few days later gave him quite a bit to think about. Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't this.

_Charlie_,

It read.

_You're an idiot. Why haven't you published this story? It's incredible! Quit with the shy insecure nonsense - you're Weasley, it doesn't fit! - and do something! You obviously love to write and you're good. Really good. So stop worrying about your brothers, or anyone else, and do what you want. It can't hurt, right?  
Hermione_

_PS - Everyone's talking about this tournament. No one else seems to care that it was stopped because of the 'overwhelming' death toll._

It took almost a month for Charlie to listen but eventually he sent the manuscript off to his old publisher. Then he sat down and wrote his response to Hermione.

After that, letters flowed between Hogwarts and Romania. Hermione had been surprised at first, thinking her first letter would anger him. She was glad it hadn't and found that it was nice to be able to talk to a magical person outside of school. Charlie became an outlet for her fears, for Harry, her anger at Ron's childishness, her joy at being asked to the ball by Victor Krum

Charlie, to his surprise found himself doing the same. He could tell her anything, though he tried to keep it as clean as possible. (This was relative - he did, after all, live with a bunch of young men in a barracks. Needless to say, Hermione got an education of a different sort.)

His book was never mentioned, that is until Christmas. In the excitement of the ball, no one noticed the extra present Hermione received or her delight upon opening it. There inside was a copy of Charlie's book, Storm of Wings, with a note telling her to look inside. Se did so and found two messages. The first was an inscription that read simply "to Hermione, My favourite bookworm. Love, Charlie."

The second was the dedication. As the book grew increasingly popular over the next few weeks, these 3 lines would cause a great deal of curiosity. It said "To my inspiration for encouraging me to follow this dream, no matter how much my siblings will harass me."

AN: Sorry for the long wait. I know it's short, but I hope to get another up soon. Thanks for all the support (and lack of flames) that my reviewers have given me.

Please note that all mentions of Charlie's book are based on The Dragonmaster Trilogy by Chris Bunch.


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